the man that refuses my toast, whether it be a crop-eared English
Whig wi' a black ribband at his lug, or ane wha deserts his ain friends to claw
favour wi' the rats of Hanover.«
    In an instant both rapiers were brandished, and some desperate passes
exchanged. Balmawhapple was young, stout, and active; but the Baron, infinitely
more master of his weapon, would, like Sir Toby Belch, have tickled his opponent
other gates than he did, had he not been under the influence of Ursa Major.
    Edward rushed forward to interfere between the combatants, but the prostrate
bulk of the Laird of Killancureit, over which he stumbled, intercepted his
passage. How Killancureit happened to be in this recumbent posture at so
interesting a moment, was never accurately known. Some thought he was about to
ensconce himself under the table; he himself alleged that he stumbled in the act
of lifting a joint-stool, to prevent mischief, by knocking down Balmawhapple. Be
that as it may, if readier aid than either his or Waverley's had not interposed,
there would certainly have been bloodshed. But the well-known clash of swords,
which was no stranger to her dwelling, aroused Luckie Macleary as she sat
quietly beyond the hallan, or earthen partition of the cottage, with eyes
employed on Boston's Crook of the Lot, while her ideas were engaged in summing
up the reckoning. She boldly rushed in, with the shrill expostulation, »Wad
their honours slay ane another there, and bring discredit on an honest
widow-woman's house, when there was a' the lee land in the country to fight
upon?« a remonstrance which she seconded by flinging her plaid with great
dexterity over the weapons of the combatants. The servants by this time rushed
in, and being, by great chance, tolerably sober, separated the incensed
opponents, with the assistance of Edward and Killancureit. The latter led off
Balmawhapple, cursing, swearing, and vowing revenge against every Whig,
Presbyterian, and fanatic in England and Scotland, from John-o'-Groat's to the
Land's End, and with difficulty got him to horse. Our hero, with the assistance
of Saunders Saunderson, escorted the Baron of Bradwardine to his own dwelling,
but could not prevail upon him to retire to bed until he had made a long and
learned apology for the events of the evening, of which, however, there was not
a word intelligible, except something about the Centaurs and the Lapithæ.
 

                                Chapter Twelfth.

                        Repentance and a Reconciliation.

Waverley was